


Still Life

by LaByzance



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Animal Dissection, F/M, M/M, Museums, Taxidermy, also some animal skinning goes down, and there's a general fascination with the dead, so yeah be warned i guess, there is a lot of talk about penis bones
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-10 10:19:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/784946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaByzance/pseuds/LaByzance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jehan and Grantaire volunteer full-time at their university’s zoological museum. Here lies gratuitous amounts of groundskeeper!Bahorel, Enjolras lacking any romantic capabilities(although, to be fair, you would too if a man who skinned carcasses by choice was out to date you), and various other appearances from Les Amis de L’ABC.</p><p>Most of the time, Grantaire wonders how his life ever got so insane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gorillas and wolves and bears, oh my!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the (sometimes) platonic life partners known as Jehan and Grantaire are introduced and Bahorel gets to act like Santa with his bag of goodies.

On the list of things Grantaire would prefer not to do today, or ever really, this is probably number one. 

“I don’t know how we should cut this, do you?” Jehan beckons Grantaire over and, though he averts his eyes for as long as possible, he can’t ignore the fact that they are: a) skinning a dead wolf and b) currently attempting to skin its junk. Grantaire’s never skinned a wolf’s penis, nor did he ever think that with his degree in Fine Arts he ever would be.

“Have you felt around for the penis bone?” Grantaire asks because he _could_ call it baculum, but where’s the fun in volunteering full-time at a natural history museum if you can’t say ‘penis bone’ liberally? Jehan gives him a withering look over his mask. He obviously prefers baculum.

“Yes Grantaire, I’ve sufficiently violated this wolf enough. I am currently holding his baculum. I’m going to cut the fur from it, but I’m not sure where to go from there,” Jehan sighs. Grantaire shrugs and then feels around the base of the wolf’s shaft. “Cut it away from the balls after you’ve skinned the bone, I guess.”

“You know, you could call them the testes,” Jehan replies as he makes a smooth incision into the wolf’s fur. Grantaire nods. He’s aching for the hip flask he’s left in his office, but even he understands that wolf innards and alcohol should never mix. “Well, I could, but that doesn’t change the face that they’re his balls.”

Just then, Bahorel peeks into the room. He’s dressed rather similarly to a lumberjack, but instead of wielding an axe, he’s holding a suspicious looking plastic bag. “You two are talking about penises without me?” he laughs as he walks into the prep room. “Apologies, Bahorel, but we’re skinning a wolf that sustained blunt force trauma. It’s getting pretty foul-smelling in here,” Jehan comments. Bahorel only shrugs. “I think I’d be more surprised if this room smelled nice for a change.”

It’s true; the prep room never fails to make Grantaire gag just a little bit. The various mini fridges that line the left wall often have some sort of rotting animal that a student forgot to take out. It’s generally Grantaire’s responsibility to then clean the insides of the fridges. After the 4th time he’d scrubbed the fridges down, he’d come to realize the smell of decay would never really dissipate. Now he’s content enough when there aren’t any pools of congealed blood. 

That is not to mention, of course, the various skinnings and dissections that go on in the room on a daily basis. Grantaire isn’t really sure how he’s managed to vomit in the room only once (during the maceration of a bison head, those damn bison heads). Bahorel, who only pops down here once in a while when he finds something interesting for the museum to look at, has balls (testes) of steel for coming in the room without a mask on.

“Success!” Jehan fist pumps into the air while wielding the wolf’s penis. The sight is both hilarious and terrifying. “Congrats on your first penectomy,” Bahorel grins in all sincerity. He offers an air-high-five to avoid being covered in wolf fat and fur. “Thanks,” Jehan replies and he sounds strangely breathless, “That took more thought power than I anticipated it would.” 

“This calls for celebration,” Bahorel announces and Grantaire really hopes that celebration means they’re going to leave this wolf carcass for the afternoon shift and go out to drink. 

As it turns out, celebration doesn’t involve that. It involves more dead animals. (To be fair, though, most of the things Grantaire has done in the past 2 years have involved dead animals thanks to Jehan.)

The whole volunteer-curator gig started out with Jehan running to the dorm they shared one morning, overly eager for 7:00 am. “Grantaire, you’ve got to see the place I just found on campus. It’s absolutely gorgeous!” 

Grantaire groans in response. Jehan doesn’t take this as an acceptable answer as he begins to beat Grantaire with his own pillow until he agrees to, at the very least, sit up.

“Okay, you’ve got me up Prouvaire, what exactly do you want at 7:15 in the morning?” he asks as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. “I want you to come with me because I’ve just discovered the greatest thing to ever be hidden from the world,” Jehan quips excitedly, “It’s the most beautiful museum…” Grantaire flops back down on his bed at ‘museum’. “That’s why you woke me up? To look at a museum? No thanks,” he replies. He can hear Jehan sigh and his bed creak when he walks away. Guilt begins to germinate in his gut, but he clamps his eyes shuts in an attempt to suppress it.

Grantaire sees less and less of Jehan in the weeks following. 

It’s not a bad thing, after all, Grantaire isn’t totally dependent on human contact. He’s perfectly content to drink himself into a stupor alone, but after nearly 2 months of Jehan skipping out on watching The Borgias to be somewhere else, Grantaire decides it’s time to do some sleuthing. 

He attempts to text Combeferre or possibly Feuilly to come along, but in the end he only manages to wrangle Gavroche, Eponine’s younger brother. He’s supposed to be at campus childcare, but he always manages to sneak out so Grantaire thinks he may as well use it to his advantage.

Though Gavroche and his sister have only been living on campus for two years, the kid seems to know his way through, behinds, and on one occasion, over buildings with more ease than Grantaire thinks he’ll ever develop.

“I think this is it,” Gavroche finally says when they’ve walked to a building that looks, disappointingly, just like the 20 other buildings they passed to get here. “You’re sure this is where Jehan has been sneaking off too for the past couple weeks?” Grantaire asks. Gavroche raises an eyebrow, “Are you doubting my expertise?” Grantaire rolls his eyes, but also smiles and ruffles Gavroche’s hair. “Never, kiddo. Now lead the way.” 

When they are inside museum, Grantaire feels a little idiotic because Jehan was right; the museum is beautiful.

The first room they walk into looks like a Victorian parlor and Grantaire has to physically stop himself from gasping. There are rows of wooden specimen cabinets with intricate designs carved into them. From the ceiling, birds are strung to mimic in-flight movement. More birds are posed under glass domes and there are various skulls propped in well-lit cabinets. Grantaire turns and nearly has a heart attack when he comes face to face with a gorilla that Gavroche has taken to climbing on

“Gavroche, get off that thing!” he says, pulling at the boy’s arm until he slips off the animal. He glances down at the plaque that’s next to the specimen. _1922_ , it reads, _Carl Akeley_. Grantaire has no clue who Carl Akeley is, but apparently Jehan does because he jumps on Grantaire’s back and says “Isn’t his work wonderful?”

Grantaire screams, though he denies Gavroche’s insistences that it is, in any way, girly. 

“Fuck, Jehan, you can’t just jump on a guy’s back when he’s in a museum filled with dead animals that look like they’re alive,” he comments, clutching at his chest as if he’s suffering from cardiac arrest. Jehan slides back to a standing position, but hasn’t stopped beaming at him.

“Welcome to the Audubon Museum for Natural History!” Jehan says, emphasizing the name with jazz hands. Grantaire nods as he looks around once more, the place is really quite a piece of work. “Do you want me to show you arou—Gavroche, get off that, it’s older than your parents!” Gavroche has taken to climbing onto a life-sized model of a polar bear and Jehan runs after him, swerving around a cabinet. 

“So this is the place you’ve been avoiding me by visiting? I must admit that it’s a nice choice,” Grantaire says, running his hand along a glass display of an anglerfish skeleton. Jehan returns from across the room with Gavroche tucked under his arm. “Thanks. Also, I haven’t been avoiding you. I’ve been volunteering here,” he gestures encompassingly with his free arm.

“Volunteering? Doing what?” Grantaire asks. 

He really shouldn't have asked, in hindsight. If he had kept his mouth shut he would never have been handed a scalpel on that first day at the museum and told to help skin a goddamn squirrel. He also wouldn’t have been yelled at by Eponine for letting her brother play with dead things.

He definitely would not be helping Jehan pour 30% hydrogen peroxide over into a basin that contains water and a bear skull (that’s what was in the bag; that’s Bahorel’s idea of a celebration. It also seems to be Jehan’s. Grantaire’s pretty sure everyone he works with is crazy).

“The bear head is going to have to sit overnight,” Grantaire tells Bahorel after he lifts the face guard he’s wearing to protect himself from any peroxide splashing. Bahorel nods and gives Grantaire a hard thump on the back, which he supposes was supposed to be a pat. “Cool. I’ll see you and Jehan around, okay? I’m going to go back up to where I found the rest of the bear and checking to see if the skeleton is whole. I’ll give you guys the coordinates of the place and everything when I swing by tomorrow.” With that, Bahorel is gone, having pulled out a handheld transceiver and radioing one of the other groundskeepers.

Grantaire looks at the old grandfather clock which has a numbat skull as the weight of the pendulum. It’s now late in the afternoon and Grantaire really doesn’t want to go back to skinning the wolf. Luckily for him, the bell over the door chimes and a stranger walks through.

It’s an unusual occurrence to say the very least; many people are like Grantaire used to be: completely content without knowing the building exists. That’s the reason that Grantaire and Jehan are volunteers; even though they work enough hours for it to be considered their jobs, the museum doesn’t make enough money to give them salaries. Neither he nor Jehan really mind.

The stranger, Grantaire notes, is carrying another questionable looking plastic bag. He’s also eyeing all the specimens in the collection as if they’re going to come alive and devour him whole.

“Welcome to the Audubon Museum for Natural History,” Grantaire says. He never manages to sound as enthusiastic as Jehan, but he doubts anyone can match Jehan's levels of excitement at their peak.

“Yes, hi. I’m a student at the med school across campus? The anthropology department donated some bones to us for study, but my professor identified this one as belonging to a bear so…this is for you?” Grantaire laughs at the sheer unease which the man is under and also because this is the second bear he’s has to deal with in a day. He pulls the bone from its plastic bag and looks it over carefully. He supposes that the only thing his BFA has done for him is given him the ability to observe fine details.

“Black bear femur. Niiiiiice.” 

It’s understandable why the bone may have been mistaken for a human’s; a bear’s femur looks remarkably like a human child’s. Thinking of Gavroche suddenly, he’s very glad it belongs to a bear. 

“Well, thanks. I didn’t get your name, sorry.”

“Joly. It’s Joly. And I should probably get going.” 

Grantaire doesn’t try to keep him there or show him around. The poor guy looks as if he were going to faint, so he lets him make his exit. Grantaire swears he hears Joly mumble something about flesh-eating tics or mites living in the furs of specimens, but he doesn't bother to correct him. The only flesh eating bugs they've got in the museum are the dermestid beetles and they’re used to clean flesh off any specimens brought into the museum. Jehan would be heartbroken if a paranoid med student came and slaughtered them all.

This reminds Grantaire that he should alert Jehan to the newest piece in their collection and off he goes, back into the prep room, the end to another (fairly) normal day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are various words that may or may not be common knowledge and I am here to fix that:
> 
> Maceration: The cleaning of bones by controlling putrefaction. Essentially, you leave the bones at a certain temperature and let the bacteria do the rest. It's notoriously foul-smelling and understandably so.
> 
> Penectomy: The surgical removal of the penis.
> 
> Carl Akeley, the man whose name Grantaire saw on the plaque, is generally considered the father of modern taxidermy. He specialized in African mammals, especially gorillas and elephants. He collected many of the specimens within the Akeley Hall of African Mammals at the American Museum of Natural History.
> 
> The museum is not real, although the man it is named after is: John James Audubon. He was an ornithologist, which is why the fictional museum named after him also as a lot of birds.
> 
> A numbat is a marsupial from the land of the marsupials: Australia!
> 
> Bear femurs really do look like the femur's of human kids and their paws, especially their hind ones, resemble human hands as well.
> 
> Dermestid beetles are used by many museums to clean flesh from bone. They don't devour the living though, so it's not dangerous to have then around.
> 
> (All this knowledge does not come from me having studied this field whatsoever. It comes from watching 'The Brain Scoop' on Youtube as well as reading Emily Graslie's tumblr: thebrainscoop.tumblr.com. I also had a little help from reading a few books and wikipedia articles on taxidermy because that what all high school students do on a Saturday night, right?)


	2. The Smithsonian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras is introduced and Grantaire can't make friends.

Jehan has always loved museums; they’re up there with poetry and ancient languages as his favourite things. There is something inherently beautiful and haunting in a building that houses the wares of the dead. They’re like graveyards, places of remembrance, but people flock to museums rather than graveyards because the dead are what we want to forget.

Working in a natural history museum has forced Jehan to think about death a lot, after all, he’s surrounded by it. The specimens he works with everyday are reminders that nothing is permanent, especially not people. 

Taxidermy is a strange juxtaposition of life and death, he thinks as he fishes the bear skull of the previous day from the tub of peroxide water. The animals themselves are dead, but they are often preserved well enough to believe them alive. Death for the purpose of eternal life. That makes him think of vampires and the Twilight series and he laughs at the thought of a young girl falling in love with a taxidermied man. The actual logistics of that are questionable, but the image makes him laugh nonetheless.

Grantaire looks at him strangely from where he’s sitting on a mini-fridge. “What are you laughing at?” he asks. Jehan shakes his head and smiles. “You’re creeping me out Prouvaire and that’s coming from the guy whose skins animal carcasses for a living.” Jehan laughs with his head thrown back and though Grantaire is confused, he can’t help but take the moment to run to Jehan’s side and peck him on the cheek.

The two are undyingly affectionate. It started off as a casual, friends-with-benefits relationship, but as they currently sit, the two aren’t together (in any romantic way), but also aren’t apart. Since beginning his volunteer work at the museum, Grantaire has grown more fond of the poet, but has lost the desire to screw him into every flat surface. He thinks that it has to do with the fact that he's seen him coo over flesh-eating beetles. Sights like that change people.

“You two lovebirds done?”

It’s Bahorel because when isn’t it Bahorel?

“I’m here to drop off the coordinates and also to to introduce you to a new friend,” he says. “Don’t tell me you’ve found another dead animal. Jehan made me stay overnight skinning that wolf from yesterday. I don’t think I can handle a putrefied deer or something,” Grantaire whines. Bahorel gives Jehan a raised eyebrow, but Jehan only shrugs. “No Grantaire, I do not mean another dead animal. Ever thought of making friends with real, honest to God, people?”

Grantaire looks indignant. “I have real friends!” Bahorel rolls his eyes. “Combeferre doesn’t count, you two haven’t been really close since high school and Feuilly doesn’t count because the only real interaction you have with him is ‘artistically inspirational sex’. And then you have Jehan and I. That makes two I guess.”

Grantaire opens his mouth and then closes it. Quietly he mumbles “You forgot Gavroche.” Bahorel violently pats him on the back in the same spot he did the day before. Grantaire winces, hoping the area doesn't bruise. “I’m not trying to get you down man, I’m just saying. Anyways! Come into the exhibit room, I want you to meet Enjolras!”

“Enjolras?” Jehan asks. Everyone on campus has heard of Enjolras, mostly because they all think he’s a hot-headed, over-ambitious weirdo. They also think that he’s got the face of an Abercrombie & Fitch model, but regardless, he’s a weirdo.

Bahorel nods vigorously. Jehan and Grantaire share a skeptical look, but they follow Bahorel out of the prep room and into the museum.

There is a beat of silence when the three of them step into the room and find Enjolras staring intently into the eyes of Carl Akeley’s gorilla. Grantaire isn’t one for silence.

“If you’re planning on beating him in a staring contest, this is going to be long day.”

Enjolras looks up at him and Grantaire thinks he may physically collapse from the intensity of his gaze. They weren’t lying when they said Enjolras was Abercrombie & Fitch material, in fact, he may have given Narcissus a run for his money.

“You have a Carl Akeley specimen?” Enjolras asks, obviously unaware of Grantaire’s predicament. “Y-You know who Carl Akeley is?” Grantaire manages to stammer out. Enjolras gives a curt nod and Grantaire notes how his hair sways with the movement. Wouldn’t he love to have some artistically inspiration sex with that. “I read about him once as reference material for a debate arguing the ethicality of taxidermy. His dedication to his work was admirable,” Enjolras replies smoothly.

Jehan doesn’t really understand how the rest of the school thinks the guy is a basketcase. From the look on Grantaire’s face, he might just drop everything and dedicate his life to following the man like a puppy. 

“I rather look to Akeley’s example when tackling my own causes,” Enjolras nods as he turns back to the gorilla. “Enjolras is head of the school’s social justice council. I sat in on one of their meetings a couple of days ago; it was good stuff,” Bahorel jumps in. “What do you and this council discuss?” Jehan asks, leaning onto one of the cabinets holding various insects of the Lepidoptera order. The moths within quake slightly, as if fluttering their wings and coming to life.

“It’s generally a place where we discuss and lay out what needs to be done to improve the world. There are lots of injustices that need to be rectified,” Enjolras’ face has changed suddenly, as if a spark goes off within him. “Really?” Grantaire asks, “Did you really just say that? Oh my god, you sound like a bad action film, complete with shitty catchphrases. Do you also have ‘ _I’m the only one who can keep these people alive_ ’ up your sleeve or do you only use that during dire consequences?” He obviously seems to be over his brief spell of stupefaction. 

Jehan goes wide-eyed and Bahorel’s head whips between Grantaire and Enjolras. The golden boy, however, seems to have only simmered down to a look of strange calm. “You may be surprised, but not all endeavors to save the world are fictional,” he says flatly. Grantaire laughs. “Well, the only ones that work are. The world won’t stop being narcissistic and evil; it’s in our nature, our _stupid_ and _foolish_ nature..”

“We are not evil—"

“In 2003, the Kenneth E. Behring Family Hall of Mammals opened at the Smithsonian. That was the last year they had a taxidermist on staff. They cleaned out the lab, distributing newer specimens to learning centres. That’s fine, great, dandy, right? Except it wasn’t because hundreds of other specimens, ones preserved by forefathers in taxidermy like Hornaday and Rockwell were destroyed. They were hacked to pieces and turned in scraps which were disposed of as hazardous waste. Giant, hand-painted backdrops were destroyed. Those animals were pieces of history and in the end, they were treated like garbage. You know what someone said when they were discussing the new hall of mammals? ‘ _This hall is about us._ ’ We’re so fucking narcissistic that we can’t even appreciate the animals the exhibits are meant for. We have to make it about how instrumental _we_ were in their lives. Let me tell you something, Enjolras,” Grantaire took a very deep breath, “if it weren’t for us, we wouldn’t need taxidermy. We would still have passenger pigeons and dodo birds and ivory-billed woodpeckers. We could go out and observe them alive and kicking, rather than admiring their glassy, dead eyes and arsenic-preserves plumage. We don’t even do that, if the Smithsonian is any indication. You know what I say? I say fuck humanity. We aren’t worth saving anyways.”

Enjolras has said nothing throughout the entire spiel, but now that it’s over, he looks at Grantaire straight in the eye.

“When Carl Akeley was sick and dying in Africa, his friend told him he needed to slow down or else he’d be leaving his bones there. Akeley replied that there’d be no place he’d rather leave them. He trekked back into the jungle with his team, looking to find the perfect specimens to send to the Smithsonian, and died. His wife and the rest of his team buried him there and found their specimens, thus creating the Akeley Hall of African Mammals.”

Grantaire is silent, so Enjolras continues.

“There are always two sides to an object, be it a person, an event, or a museum. And sometimes...the foolish things are worth dying for.” 

He turns to Jehan. “If you would like to sit in on any of our meetings, we gather at the Musain every Thursday evening. Hopefully you’ll make it.” Enjolras walks out without another word and Bahorel looks one last time in disbelief at Grantaire before following him out.

Jehan sighs, “Way to make a good first impression, Grantaire."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to introduce Enjolras into this and I also really wanted to word-vomit my museum feelings. Thus this chapter was born.
> 
> The information about both Carl Akeley's death and also the Smithsonian's horrific actions towards items of taxidermic history were found in 'Still Life' by Melissa Milgrom which is endlessly informative and also very thoughtful. I recommend it to anyone.


	3. Perhaps he loves the dead because he yearns to be one of them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan and Enjolras strike up friendship by being equally eloquent and equally beautiful. Enjolras is also incapable of referring to Jehan as anything but 'Jean', but let's be real, no one can really hear the difference anyways. 
> 
> Also Grantaire is an onion of many skins and Enjolras is confused by him.

Thursday’s meeting is eventful to say the very least. When Enjolras walks in, he’s pleased to see that the lovely blonde from the museum is there, as well as Bahorel. His feelings on seeing the second curator of the museum, the one with the dark hair and a pessimistic attitude are mixed.

On one hand, the man seems very capable of holding up an argument. On the other, he also seems very capable of drinking himself into a coma. There are 6 bottles strewn in front of him when Enjolras arrives. It’s only 6:00 pm; he didn’t even know Feuilly served alcohol this early.

Apparently he does, though, because he is leaning on the man’s shoulder and laughing. They look awfully close, so Enjolras assumes that they’ve met previously. He’s about to ask Combeferre of it when he walks in, but the drunk spots him first.

“Combeferre! Get over here and say hello, you inconsiderate shit,” he laughs. 

Enjolras knows Combeferre well enough to have assumed that he would just ignore the man, but he doesn’t, in fact, he breaks into a small smile and walks over to where Feuilly is standing. 

“Grantaire, jeez, I haven’t seen you around in a while. What have you been up to?” He pulls up a chair next to Grantaire (this is out of the ordinary; he usually seats himself next to Enjolras). Grantaire shrugs and knocks back another half of a bottle. “If I told you what I’ve been up to, you’d probably run,” he laughs. Combeferre raises an eyebrow. “Nothing will be as bad as the time with the waterfall…” he laughs and Grantaire shakes his head. “We don’t bring up the waterfall; I thought we agreed on that one!” 

Feuilly looks between the two of them with interest. “I want to hear about this waterfall incident!” The other museum curator, Jehan, shakes his head. “Trust me, I’ve heard the story. You really don’t. I’m surprised the two of them haven’t been arrested for it,” he smiles. Enjolras has never heard this story and he’s fairly sure he can call Combeferre his best friend. There is something fundamentally _wrong_ with the idea that there are things Combeferre hasn’t shared with him.

Combeferre looks up at that moment to meet Enjolras’ gaze. He stands from his place next to Grantaire and give Enjolras an apologetic look. “Right. Well, casual discussion set aside, let’s get this meeting going,” he says. He flags down Courfeyrac who is just stumbling into the bar.

“You’re late, Courf,” Enjolras says, shuffling his papers, though he knows they’re never out of order. Courfeyrac shrugs. “When have I ever been early? That’s right, never.” Combeferre shakes his head and smiles, moving to his place on Enjolras’ right. Courfeyrac takes his seat on Enjolras’ left while the rest of the members of the council adjust themselves into various chairs in the café.

“First of all,” Enjolras begins, “I’d like to introduce Jean and Grantaire. They’re here to sit in on our meeting, perhaps they might even join in.” Jehan gives a friendly wave before his hand drops into his blond hair and combs through. Grantaire raises his bottle (Enjolas thinks it may be his 8th) and takes a swig of it.  
He expects most of the ruckus to come from Grantaire that evening, but Jehan interjects most that evening, pointing out flaws in Enjolras’ rhetoric. Grantaire only smirks as Jehan delivers what most people would call a linguistic smackdown. 

The entire meeting goes like that too; Grantaire says scarcely a word and Jehan does all the talking. Combeferre is rapidly taking notes on what Jehan is saying and Enjolras notes that he’s slipping them over to Courfeyrac every so often and fact-checking from his phone. So far, he hasn’t spoken up; so far, Jehan has been right about the harsh treatment of Palestinians in the on-going war between Israel, about the cultural appropriation of Latin Americans by Disney, not to mention the fact that’s he’s quoted Rousseau at least 4 times (Enjolras knows this without Courfeyrac’s research).

He’s pretty sure that he’s in love with the man’s words by the end of the night. 

“You’re an excellent orator, Jean, really,” Enjolras says after the meeting has been adjourned and everyone is back to socializing. “Thank you. Coming from you, that’s quite the compliment,” Jehan smiles at him, bright and wide. 

Jehan has a sort of disarming smile that Enjolras can appreciate. He knows better than most that a well placed smile can win more arguments than any amount of rehearsal on a speech. Enjolras himself went through a year of braces as a freshman for his. He’s sure that Jehan has gotten his way more than once by flashing his pearly whites.

“Watch out, Enjolras. Jehan might seem all lovely and innocent with his floral bowties and his button-up oxford shirts, but I know how this is going to end. It’s going to end with you watching him scoop brains out of a fox skull when all you really wanted to do is go home and watch shitty primetime television. Run before you’re sucked into the dark world that is Jehan Prouvaire’s life.”

Grantaire has sauntered over to the two of them and is leaning on Jehan’s shoulder casually. Though Enjolras has watched him consume at least 10 bottles of alcohol, the man is still standing on his own feet and his sentences are still coherent. Enjolras is vaguely impresses and vaguely disgusted. “I don’t watch tv,” he says, eying Grantaire. The man laughs and his gaze strays from Enjolras’ face to the floor. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t. The injustice in the world would probably cause you to hemorrhage.”

“I don’t get you, Grantaire. All meeting you’ve been sat quiet as a mouse and yet here you are running your mouth at me. I didn’t take your for being all bark and no bite.”

Grantaire smirks. “I mean, I could bite if you’re into that.” And okay, Enjolras totally set himself up for that one. “Really Grantaire,” he says with a heavy sigh, “You could make a difference if you channeled your passions into something other than taxidermy and alcohol.” Grantaire gets a dark look in his eyes. “Those are not passions, Enjolras and I am not passionate. You should stop trying to convert those with a penchant for death and self-destruction to your cause. Although, I’d take you up on the biting thing any day.” It’s obvious that Grantaire has tried to end the conversation on a lighter note, but Enjolras can’t help but feel pity as the man walks over to the bar and requests that Feuilly dole him another bottle.

“Is Grantaire always like this?,” Enjolras asks as he turns to Jehan. “Is he always so…contrary?” The poet hasn’t said anything, but the smile has dropped off his face. For a moment, Enjolras doesn’t think Jehan has words to say to him, but then he begins to recite. 

> “Some of us are born chasing disaster.  
>  From the moment we enter this world screaming,  
>  we are looking for lightning,  
>  the raw  
>  of our bodies  
>  always searching for cleaver hands.”

Enjolras doesn’t know the poem, but when he looks back at Grantaire’s form at the bar, he begins to see the makings of a storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much taxidermy talk in this chapter, but it did give me the opportunity to display one of my other passions which is poetry. 
> 
> (Can you tell that Jehan is sort of everything I want to be yet fail to be?)
> 
> The poem Jehan quotes is called 'Lightning' by Sarah Kay.


	4. Santa Jehan and his bag of...goodies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire, Bahorel, and Jehan go on a scavenger hunt (for dead animals parts, what else?) and then Grantaire becomes his own pity party.

11:00 am may not be early to most, but on a Saturday in early spring it feels like Grantaire is being forced to rise from the dead. 

When Bahorel said he would bring the coordinates, he didn’t specify that he would also be taking them to the site on the mountain, thus requiring Grantaire to physically exert himself more than he has since high school gym class. If he were to boil his emotions down into just one word it would be _nope_ , accompanied by a .gif of Grantaire flying into the sun.

In contrast, Jehan is chipper in the morning as he usually is (no, seriously, Grantaire is pretty sure Jehan isn’t human, but rather a terrifying and overly perky alien) and continuously stops the trek to take note of interesting plant species he can find. Grantaire isn’t really must of a flora person, but he doesn’t mind the pit stops. Bahorel, who is an all-around outdoors-y type (which is why, Grantaire supposes, he’s groundskeeper), is just as enthusiastic about plants as he is about animals, so Grantaire is content to let the two of them geek out over some sort of invasive species all the way up the rest of the trail. 

When Bahorel stops them finally, Grantaire allows himself to collapse on the ground in a heap of melodramatic groans. “Grantaire, get up!” Jehan laughs. He nudges Grantaire with his boot. Grantaire pulls his hat over his eyes and shakes his head. “Leave me here to die!” Jehan shrugs. “Fine. You’ll make a nice addition to the museum’s collection. I’ll preserve you in C3H8O and keep you forever. My eternal best friend.”

“Dude, that’s fucking gross,” Bahorel comments as he looks between the two of them. “Tell me about it,” Grantaire concurs, extending his arm for Bahorel to yank him up with, “And I live with him. If I ever go missing, you’ll know it was Jehan.” Jehan smiles sweetly and adjusts Grantaire’s hat so it sits right again. “I wouldn’t really do that. It’s probably illegal or something.” Grantaire scoffs. “Jean ‘Jehan’ Prouvaire, willing to stuff anything if it’s legal!”

Bahorel winks at that. “Kinky stuff, Jehan.” Jehan does a little hip shake in what Grantaire assumes was meant to be seductive, but just manages to be adorable. “Okay girls,” he says, “Enough of this filthy sex talk, let’s get down to the business of why you dragged me up a goddamn mountain.” Bahorel claps his hands with the expression of a 5 year old child on Christmas, but bearded and also dressed in a distressing amount of plaid. 

“Take a look around. The rest of the bear must be around here somewhere. He couldn’t have just walked away.” 

Grantaire snorts at that comment, pulling out his flask and drinking deeply. “Well no shit, it’s dead.”

“Actually, I was going to say that it was missing a leg, but that’s also a valid point.”

Grantaire likes Bahorel a whole lot. He isn’t sure when they really became friends (it sort of just happened), but he’s glad that he has because the man is brash, honest, and a good drinking partner. His humour is strange, but his presence is always welcome as far as Grantaire is concerned. Not to mention he’s the only person who has responded to Grantaire saying ‘I examine dead animals for a living’ without disgust. Bahorel’s a gem, if maybe one in the rough. 

“Okay, one legless bear. This shouldn’t be too hard right?” Jehan shoves his hands into his pockets and begins to walk the area surrounding the path. Soon, Bahorel and Grantaire follow suit.

It turns out to be very, very hard.

“Marco.”

“Polo.”

“Marco.”

“POLO!”

Grantaire jumps. “Christ, Bahorel, you’re right next to me, you don’t need to shout as if I can’t hear you. I can hear you very well, thank you very much.” They’ve been looking for nearly 2 hours and there has been no sign of the bear. Or Jehan for that matter.

“Hey, did you see our intrepid little murderer?” Grantaire asks, looking around the area suddenly. Bahorel, who has been hunched over the same piece of land next to Grantaire looks up and shrugs. “I didn’t even notice he had left.” 

Grantaire would be worried about Jehan if he were anyone else but the poet. Often he’s mistaken for soft or vulnerable, but Grantaire knows for a fact that Jehan raises flesh-eating beetles for fun and takes Filipino knife fighting classes _because he can_. Jehan is 5 feet 10 inches of Neruda love sonnets and terror. Wherever he currently is, he’s probably fine.

“Should we go looking for him?” Bahorel asks. Grantaire shrugs. Jehan is quite capable of holding his own, but Grantaire is growing rather bored of this failed bear scavenger hunt. Whatever Jehan is doing is probably much more interesting. He’s probably fighting a mountain lion with his bare hands or something.

“HEY BOYS!” 

They look up in confusion. Speaking of the devil seems to have summoned him. “You’re coordinates were off by a mile, Bahorel. I found the bones while you two were lollygagging about!” Jehan holds up a black garbage bag which Grantaire hopes contains the rest of the bear.

“You look like Santa Claus!” Bahorel calls up. Jehan laughs and slings the bag over his shoulder jokingly. “Yeah, but instead of leaving presents under the tree I’ll be handing out the carpals of a bear.”

Grantaire raises his flask to Jehan. “Eat your ho ho heart out, Santa!” 

\---  
It’s 3:00 pm by the time they get back to the lab and Grantaire is ready to pass out and crawl home, but with Jehan cleaning the rest of the bear bones, it’s his turn to check up on the dermestid beetles. He hates this most of all the things he has to do on the job.

He’s not scared of bugs per say, but completely and utterly disgusted by them. He thinks the aversion started when he was 6 and he woke up to find that the floor near his bed was covered in spiders (apparently a mother had lain eggs and they had hatched in his sleep). He knows that Jehan would get on his case because, and he quotes: “Spiders aren’t even insects, they’re arachnids!”, but it doesn’t change the fact that they crawl all over things and are generally horrific.

The dermestid colony is Jehan’s pet project, not Grantaire’s and he’s said this many times, but at the end of the day, the beetles always win. The museum needs them to clean specimens so Grantaire puts up with them to the best of his ability.

Just peering into the glass aquarium where Jehan keeps them sends shivers down Grantaire’s spine.

The first thing he does is spray the bones that the beetles are feeding on with water so the little demons can drink their fill. He imagines the tiny creatures whispering ‘Moisturize me!’ and that quells his disgust. 

He then checks on the condition of the bones (still a tad meaty, they’ll stay in the box for a few more days) and adds a chunk of Styrofoam to the tank. The dermestid larvae burrow into the Styrofoam to pupate in the tiny monstrosities they are. 

Grantaire secures the lid into the aquarium again and strips his hands of his gloves as fast as he can. Jehan better love him forever because he’s not sure how many more times he can deal with the beetles before he gets fed up and sets the colony on fire.

“Jehan!” he calls out, but he receives no reply. He sighs.”What the hell is with you disappearing today, huh?”

When he walks into the wash basin area of the prep lab, Jehan is nowhere to be found, although there is now a tub filled with bear bones and a peroxide solution sitting on the counter. Next to it, Jehan has left him a note.

_‘Gone out to lunch with Enjolras to discuss the morality of the Victorian times. It’s not every day one gets to use his expansive knowledge of Victorian taxidermy in a normal conversation!_

_\- Jehan’_

Reading Enjolras’ name makes Grantaire roll his eyes. He’s not sure what it is about the man that turns Grantaire into a crazy rage machine, but he can’t seem to control his thoughts when Enjolras is around. If Enjolras befriends Jehan (and knowing Jehan’s likeability, he probably will), Grantaire may never be able to leave the house again for fear of saying something incredibly rude.

He usually doesn’t care about what he says or acts, but with Enjolras it’s different. He’s only spoken to him twice, but Grantaire can already tell that any long term exposure to him might just break him.

This is why he’s thankful of the distraction when the museum’s bell chimes, though he’s seriously confused as to when the museum became a place that people actually visited.

Walking into the front parlour, he’s surprised to see a face he actually recognizes, though he doesn’t know the name to put to it. “Um…hello?”

The man (God, what the hell is his name again? Grantaire should know this; he was at the stupid meeting on Thursday) walks up to him and seems to intuitively know that Grantaire doesn’t remember his name. “Courfeyrac,” he says with a grin. 

That rings a bell. Courfeyrac, fact checker of Thursday’s meeting and one of Enjolras’ closer friends. “Right, I’m Grantaire. Welcome to the Audubon Museum for Natural History,” he finally says, offering his hand. Courfeyrac shakes his head. “I’m not here for a chat about dead animals, ‘Aire,” he says. Grantaire pulls his hand back feeling a tad slow.

“Okay then? What exactly are you doing here?” he asks. Courfeyrac is examining the scarlet ibis they have on display under a glass dome. That one was from Walter Potter’s collection.

“Is Jehan here?” 

Grantaire is beginning to believe that Bahorel was right when he said he didn’t have any friends.

“He’s gone out to lunch with Enjolra. I don’t know if or when he’ll be back, sorry.”

Courfeyrac shrugs, trying to look nonchalant but failing. He obviously really wanted to speak with Jehan. “It’s fine. I’ll come back tomorrow, I guess. Later ‘Aire.”  
He’s already out of the museum before Grantaire can get in a goodbye.

Walter Potter once did a diorama called ‘The Kittens’ Wedding’ which featured 18 kittens in traditional wedding attire. There’s a priest, a lovely couple, and a large group of attendees, but Grantaire’s favourite member of the diorama has always been the kitten in the back. He’s dubbed him the reject kitty mostly because of the way Potter posed him to look scornfully on at the pair of kittens being wed. Usually, that’s Grantaire’s favourite specimen in the diorama.

Right now, however, he can’t help but feel that he is the reject kitty in the shitty taxidermy diorama that is his life. That sort of fucking sucks in his opinion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was heavily influenced by The Brain Scoop and their own adventure on finding a bear skeleton in the mountains.
> 
> Also dermestid beetles are very low maintenance in real life, Grantaire is just a big baby.
> 
> Walter Potter was a Victorian taxidermist who collected and created many strange specimen. Victorians were notoriously morbid and also fascinated with the idea of anthropomorphic animals. Specimens being posed into scenes just as 'The Kittens' Wedding' were not uncommon at all.


	5. Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan and Grantaire do some spring cleaning and also convey very platonic feelings for each other.
> 
> Also Peter Pan's shadow makes an appearance, followed by a disappearance.

If Grantaire thought that the two months before he became employed (okay, began his volunteer work) at the museum without Jehan were bad, then his current predicament was somewhere on par with Dante’s circles of hell.

Jehan’s shifts at the museum become sparser (meaning Grantaire had to care for the dermestids more often) and when he is there, the poet speaks of nothing but Enjolras or the social justice council’s various events around campus. 

After the fifth time Jehan mentions Enjolras’ ‘impeccable stage presence’, Grantaire knows he’s had enough.

“Christ, Jehan, I really could care less about Enjolras’ various skills, okay? I want to get these pelts organized because I am really starting to lose feeling in my toes from being in here.” They’ve been working in the walk-in pelt refrigerator for nearly half an hour.

Jehan lifts the zebra pelt and examines it for any damage before moving it into the ‘good’ pile. Pelts can go bad in the storage just like leftovers in a fridge. Last month they had to deal with moldy marsupials and that was not fun.

“What has Enjolras ever done to you? Just come to another meeting for God’s sake, he’s not a bad guy.” Jehan says with a pout. Grantaire shakes his head, “No, no, no. You are not giving me the Prouvaire pout. Besides, what happened to Enjolras being the school’s weirdo-hot guy?” Jehan shrugs. “He’s still the school’s weirdo-hot guy. Except he actually isn’t as crazy as he seems. His points make a lot of sense.” That pulls a laugh out of Grantaire. “We are still talking about the Enjolras who set fire to the coffee machines last year because they weren’t operating during finals right?” Jehan hits him with the rear end of a mule pelt. “Really, Grantaire, be serious. I don’t like that you’re spending so much time alone,” he says.

Grantaire snorts. “I wish I were spending time alone.” 

“You’re not?” Jehan says in confusion. Grantaire shakes his head as well as the head of the poorly preserved bear rug he’s holding. “Nope. You’ve got yourself a stalker and, by association, I also have myself a stalker,” he sighs, moving the bear hide to the ‘toss’ pile. Jehan opens his mouth to pry further, but Grantaire shakes his head. “No more questions, I’ve been sworn to silence,” he says, grabbing all the unsatisfactory pelts and carrying them to the refrigerator door. Jehan stands in the way with his arms outstretched. “I’m your best friend, Grantaire!” he pleads.

Grantaire ducks under one of Jehan’s arms (a feat made more difficult by the animal fur he’s toting). “I thought Enjolras would have claimed that title by now,” Grantaire replies. Jehan turns and follows him. “Don’t be like that, Grantaire,” he whines neck to his ear. Jehan trails kisses up and down Grantaire’s jaw. “I like secrets too,” he says between pecks. Grantaire rolls his eyes. Jehan always has his tricks for getting things his way, but it won’t work this time.

Grantaire puts the old furs into a bag where he can later hand them to the museum’s full-time curator and say: “Here, you can take care of these.” Jehan persists with his half-affectionate and half-devious kisses.

“I will not divulge any information to you. I don’t go against my word,” Grantaire says with confidence. This time, it’s Jehan’s turn to snort. “Sure you don’t. Or perhaps you just elect to forget the times that you told Eponine you would keep an eye on Gavroche when really you’d just let him tag along to the bar so he can order you drinks when you’re too inebriated to be coherent anymore.”

“I’m impressed that you even know about that one,” Grantiare laughs, “but it’s still a no.” Jehan makes a whining noise similar to a small child. “Please—Grantaire—Pleeeeeeeease?” The poet is back to the kissing now. Grantaire is pretty sure that Jehan is prepared to go down on his knees and beg at this point.

Then the museum bell rings.

Generally, Courfeyrac shows up at the museum at all the times that Jehan isn’t around. He and Grantaire have formed an unlikely friendship during these visits, one where Courfeyrac can complain about Jehan failing to notice him at meetings and where Grantaire comforts him by jokingly offering alcohol from various specimen jars. Yesterday it was one with a fetal deer.

Today, however, Courfeyrac seems to be the only creature resembling a deer in the room, with his wide eyes affixed on how Jehan’s mouth curves against Grantaire’s jaw. “I-uh-sorry!” he sputters out before turning on his heel 180 degrees and sprinting out the door. Jehan lets out an awkward laugh after a few beats of silence. “Well that was…unexpected,” he says flatly. Grantaire wants to laugh at how little Jehan understands of the sheer misfortune in the situation.

To say that Courfeyrac likes Jehan is an understatement. Courfeyrac may just be _obsessed_ with Jehan, Grantaire thinks. After several conversations with the man, it was obvious to Grantaire that the only reason Courfeyrac continued to visit the museum was the glimmer of hope that Jehan might be there too. Meetings were never easy places for Courfeyrac to speak one-on-one with Jehan; Enjolras needed his Centre at his left-hand side constantly.

It is just his luck that the one time Jehan is working, he is also kissing his way down to Grantaire’s collarbone. In a totally platonic way. The entire predicament leaves Grantaire feeling like somewhat of an asshat, seeing as how he knows of Courfeyrac’s feelings for Jehan. He reasons that it isn’t really his fault; he’s not interested in pursuing Jehan anymore (that ship sailed like two years ago, thank you very much). It was simply a case of being in the right place at the wrong time.  
Explaining this to Courfeyrac is going to be much more difficult. 

He could always wait in the museum as he always does, but Grantaire knows that Courfeyrac won’t be making an appearance near him anytime soon. His best bet is to give into Jehan’s demands and make a second appearance at one of the social justice council’s meetings. This also means facing Enjolras, a prospect Grantaire doesn’t even want to consider until he gets to that point.

For now, he decides to help Jehan in the organization of the ‘good’ pile of pelts in the walk-in fridge. Somehow, he begins to feel a little like Wendy, chasing after Peter’s shadow to sew onto Peter for good. Grantaire doubts that he can live out that allegory, but he may as well try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can probably tell, the next chapter will be Grantaire trying to fix the problem that Jehan doesn't even know is a problem.
> 
> Thank you guys for all your support!


	6. The Me Me Me Generation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan is an aggressive hugger, Courfeyrac is very Marius-esque, and Joly's lovers make their appearance. 
> 
> Also, Grantaire begins to acknowledge the fact that he may be a bit mad for Enjolras.

Grantaire is fairly sure that Jehan has broken some of his ribs with the side tackle he’s given him. “I said I’d go to a stupid social justice meeting, not donate my lung to your dying grandmother or something,” he groans, rubbing his side afterwards. Jehan wrinkles his nose. “My dying grandmother would die quicker if she had your lungs. You smoke more than a chimney in the 1800s,” he says. Grantaire laughs, “Not your best comparison, but it will do.” Jehan rolls his eyes, “Do you really want something better? Fine, how about ‘You smoke more than the fire that burns your home, taking away all you’ve ever known and turning it to ash?’” His face is stony and serious, but then suddenly bursts with laughter. With a smile like that, Grantaire can easily see why Courfeyrac is in love with him.

That’s half of Grantaire’s current problems really: Courfeyrac’s rapid manifestation of love towards Jehan. It’s not that Courfeyrac is a bad person (more like a good person with bad habits and seeing as how Grantaire is the same, he can’t judge); it’s just that this love has left him totally dependent on affection from Jehan. Which he doesn’t get often.

He’s also incredibly jealous when Jehan shows affection towards other people (re: Enjolras, also currently: Grantaire). So Grantaire is incredibly fucked and needs to stop Courfeyrac from spinning into a hole filled with Taylor Swift break-up songs. He also, if he’s being honest with himself, does not want to lose the first friend he’s made in a long time simply because his best friend is rather…affectionate.

As he thinks this, he watches Jehan catalogue the bear and wolf specimens, which are the newest to enter the collection. 

This process is all done old school: the specimens are taken down by name, number, class, order, family, genus, and location where it was found. Other details unique to the animal are taken down as well, not into a computer, but handwritten in a leather-bound book with an archival pen. Jehan looks rather romantic as he’s doing it. He resembles Keats, pouring over his work under a plum tree, though Jehan’s fruits are not fruit at all, but birds which hang from the ceiling as if in flight. The effect is ethereal nonetheless.

God, Grantaire has been spending too much time listening to Jehan read poetry.

“So, what are you kiddies currently discussing at these meetings,” Grantaire asks, breaking the silence. Jehan wipes his forehead on the back of his hand before resting his fingers on his lips in thought. “Well, last week we were discussing the ridiculous hikes in tuition fees that the government is trying to push. Enjolras got really worked up about that one. It’ll probably carry over onto this meeting.”

Grantaire laughs. “What _doesn’t_ Enjolras get worked up over?” Jehan opens then shuts his mouth. “You’ve got me on that one.” The two of them laugh as they begin to close up the museum.

Grantaire can actually pinpoint the exact moment when his resolve fails and he tries to leg it as far away from the Musain as possible. It’s the moment that Enjolras sees him and Jehan approach the café and his eyes light up with realy, honest to God, surprise. “Grantaire! I didn’t think I’d be seeing you here on a Thursday night,” he says. It’s such an _Enjolras_ assumption: Grantaire must be too much of a lost cause to ever seek out—

“I’m glad you could make it though. Or, and this is more likely, I know, I’m glad that Jean has forced you to come along. I actually wanted to speak to you,” Enjolras says, smiling somewhat reservedly. Grantaire hates him so much, but really, he knows he doesn’t. “Um. Hold that thought. I need to find Courfeyrac. Is he here?”

“Courf? Yeah, he’s inside…”

Grantaire nearly sprints past Enjolras, not so much because he’s desperate to rectify the whole Jehan issue, but more because the thought of speaking to Enjolras civilly terrifies him more than it should. “Courfeyrac!” he calls towards the herd of young men. Courfeyrac’s head pops up from the thrall and he spots Grantaire. His cheeks redden ( _That’s a new one_ , Grantaire thinks) and with nowhere to hide he walks over to the man.

“Hey ‘Aire, about Monday...sorry about that, I didn’t realize—“ 

“Courfeyrac, shut up,” Grantaire says before the other man can continue. Courfeyrac looks vaguely insulted at the interruption, but does as he’s told. “Jehan and I are not dating. We never have dated. There have been the occasional ‘I’m sad, let’s make out while drinking whiskey’ sessions and birthday handjobs, but we are definitely not dating. Lord knows I’d be dead in a few weeks if I started dating him,” he says. 

“O-okay?”

“Jehan is my best, and sometimes only friend. I have embraced my impeccably sad lifestyle and can admit that freely. He deserves a good guy, much better than me. As far as I’m concerned, you fit the bill. This is me giving you the permission to ask him out and also possibly have your brains fucked out by him. Take this opportunity, my friend. Run with it.”

Courfeyrac nods, although he seems obviously stunned. “So…we’re good then? We’re friends and I have permission to confess my undying love to Jehan?” Grantaire can’t help but smile when Courfeyrac asks for confirmation on their friendship. If he and Bahorel were betting on his social skills, the groundskeeper would owe him at least 10 bucks. And maybe a beer. “Yes to both. Go get ‘im,” he laughs.

Grantaire finds his way to a couch and settles in it, pulling his flask from his jacket and knocking it back. He watches as the rest of the members of the council trickle in; Combeferre notices his presence immediately and nods in his direction, Bahorel throws him two thumbs up, and some other members wave, though their names escape him.

One of these members takes the seat nearest to him and grins. “Haven’t seen you recently,” he says. The man is impressively tall, but also very bald, which takes away from the intimidation factor. “I haven’t been around recently,” Grantaire replies, drinking deeply again. The man laughs. “You probably don’t remember me, most people don’t. I’m Bossuet. Or Lesgles. Whichever one you prefer.” He extends his hand to shake Grantaire’s, but knocks it rather loudly on the table between them.

“You okay?” Grantaire asks, but Bossuet only laughs louder. “I’m fine,” he says. 

“He’s a bad luck magnet, he is.” Grantaire turns and finds the source of the voice standing just behind him, her hands places on her cocked hips. “Can’t sit still without something horrible happening to him.” She walks over, past Grantaire, and sits on the arm of the chair that Bossuet is seated in himself. “I’m Musichetta,” she says, lending her hand more gracefully to Grantaire than Bossuet had. 

She seems to exude charm. Grantaire takes her hand and kisses it. “Careful now, Grantaire. You might just be coerced into joining their little brothel!” he hears Feuilly call from the bar. Grantaire quirks his eyebrow at her. “Brothel?” 

Musichetta opens her mouth to respond, but Enjolras appears from seemingly out of nowhere. “Musichetta, Bossuet, and Joly have been living together in a polygamous relationship for quite a while now,” he says very simply. He then takes his place at the head of the main table. Musichetta pouts. “You take all the fun out of the explanation, Enjolras,” she says. Enjolras simply shrugs.

“Let’s get this meeting started, shall we?”

\---

Jehan wasn’t kidding when he said that Enjolras was passionate about the issue of tuition hikes. In fact, with the way he’s speaking about it, Grantaire is about 89% sure that this is the stuff Enjolras gets off to. (And no, Grantaire is not picture Enjolras masturbating, he _is not_ ).

He’s pretty sure that Enjolras is about to reach the equivalent to a verbal orgasm by the time Combeferre mentions the TIME magazine article referring to the current generation as ‘lazy, entitled narcissists.’

“We need to prove those bastards wrong,” Enjolras says firmly, and Grantaire can’t help but enjoy the way the word ‘bastards’ fits in Enjolras’ mouth. “We will show them 3 things: We will refuse to stay seated, to stay submissive and passive towards their injustive. We will show them that our generation is far from entitled by pulling back the curtain on the impressive amount of poverty that society refuses to acknowledge. Finally, we will show them our mirrors because there is nothing more narcissistic than the corporations running the circus show that is Westen culture.” Enjolras is _fuming_ and Grantaire is both enthralled and skeptical. He chooses to shut his mouth, however, because the meeting is soon adjourned and Enjolras is making his way towards him.

“That was quite something,” he says, hoping the statement was ambiguous enough to be taken as a compliment. The words were nice to hear, but as far as Grantaire was concerned, the meaning behind them would change nothing. “Did you really think so?” Enjolras asked, putting his papers away into his bag. “Yes,” Grantaire answers quickly. Enjolras raises his eyebrow and smirks. Grantaire doesn’t think that should even be _legal_. “Nice try, but I know one impassioned speech doesn’t change too many lives, least of all your life.”

Grantaire smiles back feebly, “Well it seems you know me already, Enjorlas.” But Enjolras shakes his head. “I don’t know you at all, Grantaire. I mean, I don’t know anything other than what Jean has told me of you.” At this, Grantaire is curious. “Jehan speaks about me?” Enjolras nod, “With reverence, I might add. He seems to see more than the cynical façade I do.”

This is the longest conversation he and Enjolras have had so far without him saying something obnoxious and fucking things up. It’s almost painful to see how much faith Enjolras is putting in him, but at the same time he can’t seem to look away from the man.

“How do you know it’s only a façade? I might be cynical down to my very core.”

“No one believes in nothing.”

“I do.”

Enjolras laughs. “Surely you must believe in something. If you say you don’t, you’re a better liar than I first assumed you were,” he runs his hand through his hair, “but that’s not why I wanted to speak to you.” Grantaire is glad that he doesn’t have to voice was blossoming in his mind and he elects to listen to what Enjolras has to say.

“I want you to design some posters for the rally,” he says. Grantaire snorts. “You haven’t even seen my art.” Enjolras shrugs, pulling out a sheet of paper from his satchel. “Jean brought these in.”

They’re loose sheets of some of Grantaire’s work, ones that Grantaire was sure he had scrapped. Jehan, that sly fucker. They’re mostly just quick sketches of what Grantaire often observes: bones of various animals in the museum, women in cafes, architecture of the city, and others. There are a few full-colour pieces as well, which he did after he and Jehan re-organized the museum’s extensive bird collection. 

“You’re very good,” Enjolras murmurs, running his fingers over the sketches. “You probably know less about technique than I do about law,” Grantaire points out. Enjolras coughs out a laugh. “I suppose you’re right about that. Aesthetically speaking though, you’re very good.”

Grantaire knows that this is Enjolras playing him like Jehan plays others. He says just what is right to get Grantaire to do what he needs. He probably even asked Jehan about this before hand, just so knew what to say. 

Despite his mind screaming that Enjolras has no interest in Grantaire outside what he can do for The Cause, Grantaire reaches over to one of his drawings (one with a man fixing another’s bike) and pulls out a pen from his own pocket.

“So, posters. What do you need?”

\---

When he's lying in his bed that night, he suddenly remembers what he was about to say to Enjolras. The words scare him more than they really should.

_I believe in you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire's art is pretty much these sketches done a French-speaking artist whose name I don't know but whose blog is here:
> 
> http://bouletcorp.tumblr.com/post/49686146860/pittsburgh  
> http://bouletcorp.tumblr.com/post/49686410366/pittsburgh-2
> 
> Those are the sketches that Jehan gives to Enjolras. 
> 
> As for that article in TIME magazine, I'm sure that if you have a tumblr you've seen it, but if not here it is:
> 
> http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,2143001,00.html
> 
> Once again, thank you for reading!


	7. The Burning Monk Reinvented

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feuilly and Grantaire inspire one another and Eponine and her sometimes boyfriend lie on the floor and plot murder. 
> 
> Things have been weirder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick apology for my hiatus and how short this chapter is, considering there's quite a bit of important plot things put forth in it. I've been busy with exams and also just plain lazy. Thus is the life of a fangirl, I suppose.
> 
> This is also the first time I've ever written anything with a semblance to smut. Frankly, I was scared to write the scene, but I keyboard smashed my way through the ordeal. Hopefully it's not too bad? I would not even mention the tiny sex scene were it not for the fact that I have to change the rating because of it. Hope 'M' covers my lame attempt at smut.

The worst thing about agreeing to designing Enjolras’ poster is that he has to work with Feuilly and that often ends with the two of them fucking. Like now, for example.

They really can’t help it sometimes; it starts innocently with small talk. When they run out of things to discuss (colour schemes, art style, fonts, etc etc), their mouths just seem to find their way towards each other. Feuilly has a wonderful way of knowing just what Grantaire needs, sexually speaking, and is happy to oblige.

“We’re going to need to stop doing this if you want to get anywhere with Enjolras,” Feuilly hums into Grantaire’s collarbone. He’s being fucked slowly, braced upon Grantaire’s counter, his arms slung loosely over Grantaire’s shoulders. 

“I’m never getting anywhere with Enjolras,” Grantaire says, looking at him darkly. He takes Feuilly’s cock and strokes it agonizingly slowly, “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk about it whilst we do this.” His voice is gravelly, Feuilly recognizes. He’s close. 

“You’re picturing him now, aren’t you?” he whispers into Grantaire’s ear. He drags his tongue around its shape and nips at it slightly. “Wouldn’t you like that? Do you wish you could fuck him slowly? Take him like this? Have him scream your name?” Feuilly drags his nails across Grantaire’s back. The action entices a moan from him.

“You’re a real asshole, Feuilly, do you know that?” Grantaire whispers. Feuilly sucks at his neck and continues. “You don’t have to tell me,” he clenches around Grantaire’s cock, “I know.” 

It goes like this for an awfully long time, until both men are incoherent and coming so hard that Feuilly literally cannot stand for a few seconds. He ends up staying perched on the counter, stark naked, and taking smalls puffs of a cigarette while Grantaire pulls out his sketchbook and begins the line art for the design the two had settled on.

When Jehan comes home after the last shift of the day and finds the two of them still in those positions, he just wrinkles his nose and hangs his jacket up. “Hi, Feuilly,” he waves, “Have you been working out?” Feuilly laughs. “Only you would be okay with finding a naked man sitting on your kitchen counter.” Jehan shrugs. “There’s probably been worse on that counter. This kitchen’s seen its fair share of animal carcasses in its yesteryears.” He walks over to where Grantaire is sitting and looks over at the poster. “I like it!” Grantaire rolls his eyes. “You like nearly everything I draw. It’s a fact of life.”

He holds up the book for Feuilly to see and waits as he scrutinizes. “Your shading sucks,” is all he comments and Jehan laughs. With his balance finally in check, Feuilly hops off the counter and pads his way next to Grantaire.

Jehan leaves them there to go to catch some sleep and when he wakes up the next morning, the two are still in the same position and still sketching away.  
Anyone who says that Grantaire is lazy can fuck themselves with knives.

\---

At the next meeting, it’s Feuilly who shows up with the poster because neither Grantaire nor Jehan can make it. “Yeah, they’re both working overtime at the museum or something,” he says, throwing his satchel behind the bar, before pulling the poster out of its tube and rolling it flat on the table. Everyone ignores Joly’s shudders at the mention of Audubon in favour of gaping at the artwork.

Courfeyrac whistles. “Now that is what I call art,” he says.

The subject of the poster is Enjolras (it’s unmistakably Enjolras with his blond hair and piercing eyes), but he stares back at the viewer without his usual spark of light. He looks deathly pale and remarkably thin, his skin peeling and falling as paper money. 

When Enjolras had asked for something thought provoking, he didn’t think that Grantaire would come up with something like this. It’s a little disturbing, if he’s being honest, because the exposed muscles in his cheek are drawn with immense detail and it makes his brush against his own cheek. If Enjolras had thought Grantaire’s sketches were good, then what he was looking at what a goddamn masterpiece. “Feuilly, this is great…” he says quietly. Feuilly shrugs. “Mostly I gave…inspiration. And feedback. Grantaire did most of it. The man is a drunk genius.” 

“It’s good to know he’s still drawing ,” Combeferre comments from over Enjolras’ shoulder. It makes him jump and Combeferre chuckles. “Grantaire has drawn like this since high school?” Enjolras asks. Combeferre thinks for a moment, “He’s drawn like that for longer than I’ve known him.” 

Enjolras can’t seem to understand Grantaire. He’s incredibly frustrating and rather off-putting (not to say that he himself isn’t. He knows that the student body thinks he’s creepy and assumes he makes out with personifications of France. Honestly, that was, like, one time), but he definitely doesn’t seem to be the hopeless case he tries so hard to make himself out to be. 

Enjolras doesn’t know how someone with so little faith in a cause can strike up an image so full of meaning for it. He’s so lost in this thought that he doesn’t notice how Feuilly studies him intently; how he smiles with the knowledge that he understands something more widely than the Chief himself.

\---

On the other side of town, in a decrepit looking building, Eponine Thenardier is beating the shit out of her sometimes boyfriend, Montparnasse. 

“This is what I get, isn’t it? Trusting you with my goddamn little brother, I mean, I should have called Grantaire but last I heard he was playing activist. So I called you. I’m such a fucking idiot.” Her last sentences are emphasized with kicks to his groin. Montparnasse is doubled over, but he still manages to sound smug while he snorts. “Yeah, because the guy who takes your little brother to bars is more responsible than I am.” He knows he shouldn’t rile Eponine up any further, but he can’t help it. It’s fun.

The stomp she gives to his ribs, however, is not fun at all. 

“He is more responsible! At least Grantaire doesn’t leave my brother in the red light district to wander!” she yells. Montparnasse brings his hands to his face in the event that she decides to kick his head in. “I’ve already got Claquesous and Babet looking for him, okay? Calm down, will you?” 

Montparnasse expects Eponine to, maybe literally, rip his throat out with her teeth or something, but instead she collapses next to him on the floor. She’s wiping her eyes furiously, which he knows is a tell-tale sign that she’s trying very hard not to cry in front of him. “Hey, ‘Ponine, he’ll be fine. I promise,” he says, pulling his arms away from his face to grasp Eponine’s hand. She kicks his lightly with her foot and sniffs. 

“And if he isn’t?”

“We’ll kill whoever is responsible for hurting him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's not much natural history talk in this chapter, but I can promise there will be some coming up soon! Jehan loves the museum too much for that.


End file.
